


things left behind

by prittyspeshul



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:41:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prittyspeshul/pseuds/prittyspeshul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But then dawn broke and she came back to him, older and wiser and heavier with the knowledge of just what she was giving up (everything, her whole world, but he was her whole world, she whispered, that first night and every night thereafter, when his own inadequacy threatened to enfold him in the face of her selflessness) but she came back to him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	things left behind

Sometimes she still woke him up, singing strange songs in a language that didn’t exist yet, half-asleep herself as she rocked the newborn twins or boys or girls (not theirs, never theirs, because though both desperately wanted, a priestess’ womb and a demon’s seed were never to be met without violence). In those moments, she was unguarded—not that she was ever truly guarded, her face was an open book and so was her heart but still, in  these moments she was somehow even deserted by her normal openness and the depth of her still frightened him. The first time he had made noise, disturbed her and though he felt guilty afterwards he also felt relief because she had stopped and he didn’t have to face the strange feelings the soft hums stirred in him. The second time, he had crept out of the house, running until he couldn’t breathe, unwilling still to face whatever it was from which he ran. Finally, each time after, he lay still, quieting even his breathing until the soft, melancholy tones were all he could hear, and the sheer depth of her was all he could see.

It still took his breath away, just how much she had given up for him. At first, of course, at first she was foolish and young and not of this time and so didn’t understand exactly why she got such scathing glances for walking with (beside) him, and he tried to push her away over and over again because he never wanted her to understand, wanted the innocence of her trust and hope and faith in him forever because he was (after all) just a half-demon greedy for the taste of it. Even later, even after she had learned just how deeply appalling her actions were, even for one such as herself (especially for one such as herself) she had still stayed, over and over again, though still he pushed and pushed and pushed (but less strongly each time). Until slowly, he grew to realize he couldn’t be without her, couldn’t fight without her, and the reliance terrified him and exhilarated him, so he reacted as he always did and adamantly ignored it.

Until he had to be without her, and forever stretched forever into eternity, and the promises he had made to another failed to call even his sense of duty and honor because how could he give his forever to anyone but she who had so claimed it that he could not even tie himself to his own past?

But then dawn broke and she came back to him, older and wiser and heavier with the knowledge of just what she was giving up (everything, her whole world, but he was her whole world, she whispered, that first night and every night thereafter, when his own inadequacy threatened to enfold him in the face of her selflessness) but she came back to him. And she never spoke of her losses or her past, he never caught her wistful gazes to the sky or to her own ancient, long-discarded uniform, she had known it was the only thing she could do and so she had done it wholeheartedly.

Except in these fragile moments. He could see the real depth of her heartache and loss, the jagged wrenching scar that cut right through her whole body that she felt with every step, every laugh, every breath, and the enormity of her sacrifice—for him, for him, always for him with that damn smile—took his heart and crushed it into tiny pieces every time.

On his knees he would go to her, begging judgement and redemption in the same breath (as he ever did), and she would reach out to him and hold him to her, covering him the way one covered a lantern to protect its delicate flame, and he would hold her, reverently, the way one held prayer beads when they forced back infinite power. He would press kisses of forgiveness and greed to her forehead, temples, eyes, cheeks, nose, but never mouth, until she shook with mirth or sadness (he never stopped to find out), finally lingering at her feet once more until they both slept.

And in the morning, she would be back to herself, cheerful and chiding and welcoming as always, and the darkness of the night would never be reflected in her face. He would still tiptoe around her for the morning—until the inevitable outburst of anger or passion and his face would hit the dirt—and he thought that perhaps all priestesses must suffer in the same way to bring about different results.

**Author's Note:**

> A rough little tumble of a thing I needed to squeeze out before it killed me.


End file.
